


Each Horizon

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Petra takes Bernadetta out to sea.
Relationships: Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Each Horizon

The rowboat bobs, eager to snatch them up. Its swirls of bright paint reflect red and green in the water. Painting another boat on dry land instead of rowing out would save Bernadetta from staining the sea red herself.

Hugging her books, she edges behind Petra on the beach. “What if we’re stuck out there forever?”

“We will not be getting stuck. I will bring us back,” Petra says.

“But what if the boat rolls over?”

“I will rescue you. I have excellent swimming.”

That’s not as reassuring as it should be. Bernadetta removes her shoes slowly. Even through her socks, the sand burns her feet.

It used to seem impossible to stand on Brigid’s shore. Now she would travel to Dagda or farther for the chance to see each horizon, just so long as she could follow Petra there. Petra, her queen, who used to pick weeds beside her, who leads an island with her head held high—and who always held out a hand to her, as she does now.

Bernadetta takes it. She squeezes her eyes shut as she wades into the water, which glues her socks to her ankles. A tickle against her skin makes her look down with a yelp. Only seaweed, not some deadly jellyfish.

Petra helps her into the boat. It rocks as Bernadetta clings to it. Once they’re settled, she places her books in her lap and peels off her socks to wring them out.

“This is why I have said to take them off,” Petra says.

“And I said I like a warm layer between me and the world.” Even if on Brigid, that means she sweats indoors and out. “Maybe not a wet layer, though.”

“A wet layer is having no warmth,” Petra agrees. “Are you ready?”

“No, but please just get going anyway.”

They each take an oar. The motion distracts Bernadetta, as she tries to keep up with Petra’s strong, sure movements. It’s odd for water to feel so heavy against her, but it’s still not as hard as guiding a horse, even if the sea has as much a mind of its own.

When Petra has them halt, it hits Bernadetta where they are: adrift at sea, with Brigid a strip on the horizon and wooden planks rocking beneath her. If this were a murder mystery, the killer would drown the victim here. Not that Petra would ever do that.

“Um, Petra? Why’d you wanna bring me all the way out here?”

“I know Bernie needs alone time. You have not been having it, since coming to Brigid.”

“That’s for sure.” 

She was still wavering on her land legs when Petra introduced her to the welcoming party. The mass of strangers made her lungs constrict. Her unfamiliarity with the language and customs guaranteed mistakes, and she hated making Petra look bad. Even after the ship returned to Fódlan, Bernadetta worried about being sent back on it.

But the more Petra introduced her as _Bernie_ , the more something in her clicked. Nobody knew her as Bernadetta, the bear of Varley or the recluse of Garreg Mach. Just Petra’s Bernie.

“There is being no one else around for miles, and no sound but the waves and the gulls. It is very relaxing,” Petra says.

Relaxing? They agree on a few ideas of the word—gardening, crafting, and feeding horses among them. This is not one.

Bernadetta swivels her head. The sky is clear, other than a few clouds too spread out to gather. No wyverns carry soldiers, and no other boats paint the water red. Enemies can’t hide any more than she can.

And then there’s Petra, with the sun shining on her toned arms and the easy smile she throws over her shoulder. Bernadetta wants to bury her face in it, all of it, but she stays on her plank and tries to absorb the sea Petra loves.

“Hey, yeah, you’re right,” Bernadetta says. “Why’d you tell me to bring my books, though? I’m afraid of getting them wet.”

Petra faces away again, hiding the shadow that passes over her. “There was a time when I could not even be looking out the window. My only escape into the world was through books. So I thought, if Bernie was wanting to escape, I would bring you and the books out here, so you could choose where to go.”

Bernadetta’s heart sinks below the waves. It’s impossible to picture a small Petra locked away, or to know what that was like for her. All Bernadetta can imagine is rowing the boat far away, where they can both explore something new. But Petra has never run, and never will.

“Yeah!” Bernadetta says, squeaking in her attempt to sound chipper. “I mean, I usually use writing for that, but I don’t think I could write in a boat.” Writing about one is another story. Her heroines have hauled their trembling legs through forests and over mountains; one might as well swim across the sea.

As she daydreams, she cracks open a book of plants Petra gave her, and Petra casts a net for fish that Bernadetta will cook. She remembers the seaweed that licked her ankles. What does it look like below water? Maybe she’ll find a book describing it, or maybe she’ll just ask Petra.

Or maybe, if they keep coming out here, she’ll take a peek herself.


End file.
